[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Covalent Bonds

Chapter 29

The last rainstorm of spring flung itself against mullioned windows as Palo whinnied like a mother shaak calling her colt. "Let me get back to you," he managed to choke out. 

He replaced the pile of flimsiplasts with his latest My Little Gualaar designs on top of the comm console holoemitter, right next to the stack of second edition Dual Duelling, Anakin and Obi-Wan's spin-off series of holocards from the Jousting Jedi base run. The continuous political feed blared from the comm until he muted it with shaking fingers. For a moment he stared out the window at the framing cloudflower vine's blooms, whipping wildly in the wind. It took a few minutes to settle himself down enough to join his wife in their dining room.

Dormé straightened the dinner plates atop their chargers. "What."

"Padmé says that there's a glitch in the plan. Dooku wants to meet me."

"Forget it."

"Padmé wants me to. Master Yoda wants me to."

"Are you married to them or to me?"

Palo quibbled, still undecided. "You can bodyguard me until the actual meeting, Dormé. You've had the experience."

"I don't want to do that anymore. I'm out of the loop regarding the latest assassins' vibroblades" -- Palo flinched -- "smartbombs" -- Palo blinked rapidly -- "and the like. I retired from that." Dormé's features smoothed into what Palo called her 'sweetly concerned' face. It was one of the ones she had used when posing as Amidala. It would take some serious ammunition to convince her. He found himself hoping that she would talk him out of his half-formed decision. He dropped the bombshell.

"Padmé will endorse me for Organa's official holoportrait if I do this. Think of what that will mean for my career."

"And all you have to do is risk your life? Generous of her." My former mistress has a lot of gall. Not as much as Ommané, but a lot. Dormé slapped down soup spoons. They ate in silence, Palo nibbling at his meal when he usually smacked his lips with gusto. The knock at the door came as a relief.

Someone in the indescribably comforting robes of a Jedi stood in the viewer. Slender hands pushed back the encompassing brown hood. The revealed dark eyes under bushy brows stared with great solemnity into the lens. I've never seen him before. I've never seen him before. Dormé almost curtsied as she opened the door. Handmaidens and the Jedi shared societies with codes. The handmaidens' code had two tenets: Protect the Queen. Protect the Senator. It had never seemed necessary to delineate how.

"How can I help y-- " she began, but the Jedi Knight held up a hand peremptorily, as if he were used to command, or as if he had limited time. Palo came to the door behind her, but Dormé couldn't make the serious young man stay longer than he wanted. The Knight turned, a silver thread in his forelock glinting from the flitterbug-repellent light on their front porch. "Don't be afraid. I'll be shadowing you," he said to them both, and vanished into the dark rain. I've never seen him before. Dormé rubbed her forehead. Or had she? Was this a Jedi mind trick? It didn't say much for her strength of mind if she had succumbed to one.

"I'll consider going with you, Palo." Dormé leaned back against the closed door. "I don't see how I can do otherwise, now." She rested her head on Palo's chest and he folded her into an embrace.

xxxxx

Serenno was an artist's dream, Palo thought, but only a two-dimensional artist. Pastels, gouache, or oils, Count Dooku's estate displayed a diverting, attractive flatness; as a sculptor, Palo looked for depths to carve into life. The depths that he perceived with his artist's eye bothered him and seemed too dark to portray in sculpture. Here dwelt a perversion of something good. He hadn't actually believed a Jedi could go bad, until he stood as he did now before an old man. The silver hair and beard appealed aesthetically to him, the black garb flowing as the leader of the Separatists paced back and forth before him in Dooku's comm room. Palo blocked out all thoughts of his mysterious Jedi escort and pushed aside considerations of Dormé, too, who waited for him in their small two-person shuttle one hundred meters away at Docking Bay Two. He felt he knew his wife better than before, as she had donned a white unisuit and strapped on a bandolier this morning. The blaster at her hip made her dangerous. He was nearly afraid of her. Then she turned concerned brown eyes on him and they saw each other's happy lives together in jeopardy and that drew them closer than ever. "Stay safe," Dormé had commanded, and he had no intention of disobeying her.

The JediNow! item twirled on the comm station's holoemitter's base, the banner circling a blue roll of carpet and five stacked boxes of signed holocards. Palo felt obliged to elaborate on the company's verbiage. "You understand, sir" -- stick with 'sir,' I cannot think of his title, 'Your Excellency,' no that wasn't it, 'Your Glory,' no -- "that I am affiliated with the auction house and submit my original work and rare finds to them, but I do not write any blurbs. I did not write what you are reading right now."

Dooku had turned off the audio. It was nauseating enough for Palo to read, "Congratulations, Honest1! You have WON WON WON this lot of authentic Jedi-interest items. It consists of One. Jedi carpet, reputed to contain elements from Korriban itself, captured by our valiant Jedi from the nefarious Sith in the Great Hunt millenia ago. This tremendous find is augmented by Two. A FULL COMPLETE set of authentically signed holocards of all existing Jedi Knights and Masters, excluding Padawans. Whether in the field or not, each has signed a likeness. This magnificent lot can only appreciate in value in your collection and when you sell, please consider JediNow! for your liquidation needs. The Management." A Praci officer of the company spread himself onto the banner, JediNow!'s corporate logo in full color forming from his gelatinous undulating body. The loop repeated.

"From Korriban itself! Can it be?" Dooku's aristocratic tone wavered rarely, but it did so now. For only the second time, he could point to an advantage in searching the Holonet for bargains. Adding a Sith heritage to his Serenno one, to have a relic from the Great Hunt of nearly four thousand years ago, a Jedi relic that would come into his Sithly possession, what a triumph that would be. He could step upon it daily. He would place it here, in his Serenno home, before the great window, and when he pulled up his chair to his desk, his feet would rest upon a Jedi-crafted artifact. He would switch from a repulsor chair to a more uncomfortable chair with rollers. That would crush it all the more. And with his feet, he could stomp it. Alone, he could twist little patterns in its fringe, he could roll around on top of it, gloating. Only in his mind did he do such undignified things. Outwardly, he allowed himself a chilly smile. It wouldn't do to give away his enthusiasm to this paltry, if useful, being.

"I am interested in you, Palo of Naboo. Does your shop come across these items in a scheduled, orderly way? I cannot be bothered with uncertain suppliers." Probably doesn't even have it at the moment. It's all a deal on speculation, how bourgeois.

Got you. "For you, a special deal. First time only, because good clients, knowledgeable clients, are rare and a joy to meet. I can have this to you by next month." Palo calculated, ought to have it by then if all goes according to plan, yes, next month will be feasible. The timing of it all rests with you, Yoda and Padmé. I'm just the middleman. If it didn't happen, he had an old rancor-hide rug with minimal defects that could hold Dooku, though Yoda's and Padmé's plan would have to be restructured. He hoped it all would go well, for everyone's sake, even Dooku's, who seemed aesthetically on a par with himself, though lacking in morals. It's a fine line between us, Count, and I don't want to think about how fine. Art makes us brothers, one Sith, one not. "What I can do to hold it for you is to take your private comm number, notify you when it is actually ready to be shipped. I can holo a detailed image to you personally, so you can check it over first. Will you want the Express delivery?" Palo poised his fingers over his own private comm, ready to punch in the codes, smile replaced with an earnest, businesslike expression.

Dooku arched his eyebrows. "AArgau one, one-one-one-oh, and yes."

"Extension?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Ulps. Be honest, Palo. "I apologize, sir. You're the first noble we've had as a client and I'm nervous. I'm new to the dealing end of the art business, you know? But if you decide to purchase this, it can make my shop's reputation." He bowed in a not-too-deep fashion, in keeping with building a client/procurer relationship. He knew his place. Three steps down the social ladder from Dooku, not four, not one. "I'll be in touch."

"Very well." Dooku moved to stand nearly toe-to-toe with Palo, Dooku's greater height intimidating less that his next cold words. "My private comm number is to remain private."

Palo nodded briskly and left, waiting until he cleared the estate's great doors before wiping his streaming brow. Padmé would have been good at this subterfuge. He recalled how she had adjusted to using decoys, flattening her voice and mannerisms while acting as handmaiden, and even when younger, how she had flourished as a member of the Legislative Youth Group alongside him. Even though she was three years his junior, her abilities placed her in his age bracket. Too bad Dooku despises her so. She could handle this better than I can. He'd probably fling something at her if they were ever in the same room. Even when they had broken off their small romance, Palo had not gotten that angry with her. He liked her take on life. It was a pity that she was sharing it with no one permanently. He thought that she could mature into a passionate lover, given time. He hoped Master Yoda could handle that passion, if he were interpreting correctly the signals that Padmé and Yoda gave off in his first meeting with them. At his age, Yoda ought to be able to handle anything, in theory, at least. Channeling mutual passion into a satisfying relationship at nine hundred, Palo could barely comprehend. But then Yoda had the Force, and if anyone could handle the situation, he could. Personally, Palo was content with his Goddess of Safety. He breathed out tensely, feeling his diaphragm clench with nerves, calming himself with a mental prayer to Her.

Dormé opened the ramp, scanned the docking bay with drawn blaster and gestured him aboard. They didn't speak until in hyperspace.

Meanwhile, in the Kenobi/Skywalker quarters ...

Anakin flung himself face-down on their fourposter. A good hard pounding for Obi-Wan. No, it had been too long. A tender kiss. Better ... a handjob ... so-so ... a cool morning swim in Tatooine's fabled lake country. Far more likely. Anakin couldn't wait for Obi-Wan's return to their home. He patted the luxurious two-hundred count sheets on their bed as he sprawled on their fourposter, ate Almond-kwevvu Crisp-munchies by the handsful and fantasized. A Zeltron named Gnatnoop had approached him at Hologram Fun World when Owen, Beru and Sabra had been playing in the Anywhere Room. Gnatnoop's pheromones, empathic ability and genial host persona flowed over Anakin from the first.

"Having fun?" Another wave of pheromones and a projected romantic dinner for the two of them on a veranda, soft music and revelers popping fireworks in the background forced itself into Anakin's mind.

"Huh, yeah," Anakin answered, momentarily stunned. Then he gathered the Force. Obi-Wan's pale skin and brown robes took the place of Gnatnoop's flushed features. Anakin blasted the revised image with three-quarters of his strength back at Gnatnoop.

Gnatnoop wavered. "Making s-sure you were enjoying yourself, no harm done, Jedi." The cerise skin paled to shell-pink. The Zeltron handed Anakin a business holocard. "Andros Gnatnoop, Major Designer Of Hologram Fun Zones. See his work at Hologram Fun World today!"

"Great little amusement park you got here!" Anakin had Force-projected his voice at the Zeltron's retreating back. Gnatnoop walked faster.

Anakin chuckled at the memory and crammed another Almond-kwevvu Crisp-munchy into his mouth. He visualized Obi-Wan on Zeltros, fending off numerous admirers with an officious, "No sex, please, I'm Jedi." He laughed until the snack's crumbs threatened to choke him. Obi-Wan, my Obi-Wan, you don't need pheromones or telepathy. Anakin carried his fantasy to its logical end, after the dinner, after the veranda, ending the music, retreating to this very fourposter. Or perhaps the kitchen island again. Oh, yes, there will be fireworks.

TBC

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